


i'm your ride or die

by safeandsound13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brollexa, Brotp, Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Friendship, bellarke and clexa friendly, but warning i have a preference for bellarke and im trash so youve been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because,” he snorts, humorless. He’s not trying to be rude, but like. They’re dogs, dude. He has to defend them. “They’re great animals. Loyal, friendly. They’re cute.”</p><p>“Cute?” She scrunches up her nose. “I do not see why you would take a wild animal into your home because they simply look cute.”</p><p>He shrugs, shoving the last of his books into his bag. She has like a million candles in her curtain-clad room, like that’s not a fucking fire hazard. “Ancient times, I guess.” </p><p>OR: a season 3 AU about Bellamy coming to live in Polis, being forced to work together with Lexa and their developing friendship. #brollexaliveson</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm your ride or die

**Author's Note:**

> hello, it's me. i have suffered for long enough in the deep dark parts of the fandom, always ready to defend but always afraid of the confrontation so i must finally come clean
> 
> I LOVE LEXA AND BELLAMY AND I WANT THEM TO BE BEST FRIENDS
> 
> i know lexa is technically in cyber heaven or wherever the fuck she supposed to be now so they canonically cannot even be friends and probably hated each other’s ass before that anyway BUT when have i ever written a canon fic??? EXACTLY
> 
> so here’s an AU in which skaikru joins as the thirteenth clan and pike dies of something stupid and anti-climatic like a poisonous berry or a bee stung him and he’s allergic and clarke comes back sooner to smack some sense into her boyfriend bellamy so no one has to die and ALL IS WELL:)
> 
> psa, this fic is not anti-clexa or anti-bellarke. both play a role, since they’re big parts of both Lexa’s and bellamy’s arc on the show. y’all know i’m a bellarke hoe but i tried not to let it shimmer through too much but there Can only be One
> 
>  
> 
> song in the title is from lighthouse by G.R.L., and the song in the fic is army by ellie goulding because YAAAAAAASSSS BITCH

 /.|.\

  _i'm a pain, i'm a child, i'm afraid_

_but yet you understand_

_yeah like no one can_

 .

To say he’s bitter about having to move to Polis would be an understatement. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the grounders—what, after they sent a deadly virus into their camp, attacked the dropship just for being on their ground, tortured Raven just because, made Clarke kill Finn, were willing to let a damn bomb drop on top of a village with his sister in it and they left them to die at mount weather, just from the top of his head?—it’s that he doesn’t trust the grounders.

But. Since becoming the thirteen clan was their only option to survive and Clarke asked him to live in Polis because ‘ _they look up to you_ ’ and ‘ _you’ll set an example_ ’, here he is. He’s still angry and distrustful and _very_ bitter, but now he’s literally sleeping with the enemy. He’s lucky he let go of his morals the minute he stepped on the ground for the first time or he would seriously hate himself at least thirty percent more (so, like. A hundred and thirty percent).

Channeling all of that anger and distrust and bitterness and _hate_ , and directing it into a singular direction would be much more efficient than growling at every grounder passerby in the hope they get the message. Also, it would make his life with them so much harder. Since Lexa is basically the embodiment of grounder culture, she’ll do.

“Lexa,” he says, as a form of greeting during their first official meeting and some bald dude standing on her right almost chokes on his own spit.

He takes a step forward, eyes dark. “That’s _comma_ —”

“Titus,” she spits, holding up a single hand to shush him. She’s not wearing her warpaint and he has to admit she looks much more like a child on a throne than a commander in charge of running twelve (thirteen) clans; innocent and bare. But she’s not innocent, he reminds himself. She turns to him, face stoic as she nods, once. “Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke clears her throat after they stare each other down for a long moment, sizing each other up. It’s basically just a staring contest to decide who’s more dominant, but they’re adults. So. He’s not exactly sure what their point is.

Lexa eyes Clarke—who’s eyeing him for being impolite—tilting her head slightly. If she’s confused, she shakes it off quickly. She turns back to him in one fluid motion, hiking her brows.

“I must say I was surprised with your decision to come live with us in Polis.” All calm and diplomatic.

“It wasn’t my decision,” he cuts in, heated, because he’s petty like that and he wants her to _know_. He’s here for his people and his people only. “If I’d wanted to live with savages I would’ve made myself comfortable in some barn in one of your villages.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke warns, low, and he feels her stiffen beside him.

Titus takes another step forward, but Lexa raises her arm before he can get down the steps. “You would prefer your sleeping quarters to be amongst the animals? I could have it arranged by tomorrow.”

He clenches his jaw, because part of him doesn’t know if she’s playing a game with him, or if she’s really that naive. Titus leans over, his eyes never leaving Bellamy as he whispers something in her ear.

“I see,” she nods, dismissing her lackey, eyes drifting over to Clarke once more. Maybe to check if she feels the same as him. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t. Lexa’s fingers tighten around her arm rests, knuckles turning white, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“May I have your permission to leave, _Lexa_?” He narrows his eyes—because they’re living on her terms, aren’t they—and she once again tilts her head in consideration. “You may. I just have one more question.”

He nods, sharp, not that he thinks it would matter, as she continues. “What makes you think _we_ are the savages?”

He stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded, before he laughs, dry and hateful. Clarke grabs him by the forearm, nails digging into his skin, but he can’t help himself. “Are you serious?”

“Just because we stayed on the ground and fended for ourselves while you all ran like cowards into the Sky, only to invade our land on your terms and kill our people before demanding to be treated like equals, does not mean _you_ are the civilized society.” He opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn’t really know what to say. She sits up, and he suddenly understands how people could mistake her for anything else but a child. “We do what we must do to survive. That is what you did, is it not?”

He swallows, tight, not looking away from her while he considers it. They did do what they had to do to survive, and he didn’t like who he was when he did, but he did it for his people. Maybe they’re not so different after all. It doesn’t mean he has to like her, but it does mean that he has to live with her, like he has to live with himself.

 “Okay,” he responds, firm and understanding and she nods, final. “I hope you will settle in accordingly, Bellamy Blake.”

.

He has to live with her, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t go out of his way to annoy her. Calling her Lexa, for one. It embarrasses her, especially in company, but she doesn’t want to fight him on it because she wants to remain the bigger person or something. The better human.

Joke’s on her, because he has no problem being the bad guy.

At least, that’s what he thinks until. Well. She almost kills a man.

During one of the coalition meetings, that he attends with Clarke and Kane, not because he wants to or supports the coalition, but because he wants to know everything that goes down during them. He doesn’t like surprises. Like, ‘ _surprise a bomb destroyed the village your sister was hanging out at, love Raven_ ’ or ‘ _surprise Echo is a bitch and she let your girlfriend die while she was still twisting the knife in your back_ ’.

A guy, who introduces himself as ambassador Steve kom Podakru (he thinks, he wasn’t really listening and only caught the last part), is complaining about other grounders fishing from their lake and is discernibly pissed off about it, too. He’s been talking in trigedasleng, so Bellamy doesn’t catch all of it, until he ends his monologue with, “If only you weren’t so busy with catering to the needs of the Skaikru, Lexa.”

She’s been mostly looking bored during their entire exchange, but she tilts her head at him, glaring him down before she rises from her throne slowly, eyes hard. “Titus, open the balcony doors.”

“Heda, please,” Titus sighs, rubbing his forehead, like this happens all the time. Clarke is visibly tense beside him, and even Kane looks like he’s sorry for what’s about to happen but just slightly more annoyed that it’s happening _again._

“Titus,” she warns, and he starts making a move for the balcony and she starts descending down the steps eerily slow, never taking her eyes of Steve.

She starts yelling in trigedasleng, something about honor and solidarity, only interrupted by Steve’s pleading for her to forgive him. Once they reach the balcony, she turns around, to address the rest of them.

“I am Heda. Nobody will put that into question.” She turns back to Steve and promptly _kicks_ him off the fucking balcony. What the…

He turns to Clarke and Kane, who both look uncomfortable, but not surprised, and the former sends him an apologetic look, nods for him to stand down. It’s not like he cared for Steve kom Podacru, but fuck. Just for calling her Lexa? He’s done that a million times.

“It’s about respect,” Kane whispers, and Bellamy’s shoulders straighten. “He disrespected her in front of the other clans, not acting on it… It makes her look weak.”

Yet, she lets him call her Lexa all the time? He wants to asks Kane, or Clarke (who’s sending him one of her judgemental I’ve-always-known-and-I’m-better-than-you looks), but he won’t get the right answer. He catches Lexa’s eye before she sits down, and she nods at him, once, barely registrable, like it’s their own secret handshake.

(He’d built up the courage, months later, to ask her why. 

“It is a... nickname, is it not?” She had answered, a small confused smile playing on the corners of her lips as she put her knife down on her thighs. “A sign of friendship in Skaikru culture?”

Nicknames didn’t usually include someone’s actual name, but considering she considered her full name Heda Lexa or some other medieval sinister shit, he guesses that was technically true. Even if his intentions back then hadn’t been that… Friendly.

He looked at her, and she looked almost _hopeful_. Finally, he finds his voice and hoarsely forces out, “Yeah.”

She goes back to sharpening her knife, and he doesn’t miss the way she bows her head to hide her smile. “Good.”)

.

There’s so much blood, on the walls, on the floor, on his hands. He can’t, he can’t breathe. He can’t think, he can’t speak, he can’t see _anything_ but blood and pain and betrayal.

They trusted him. He said he’d help them, he tried to help them, God, he—

“Bellamy,” Octavia speaks at him, brings his thoughts back into focus, grabs his wrist and squeezes, hard. She’s smiling, her eyes bright and innocent, her brown hair falling straight down her shoulders, bangs falling into her eyes. He looks down at her hand, thinks of the tiny fingers he held when she was first born. He frowns because she didn’t look this clean and happy and whole, not here, not at Mount Weather. She hasn’t since they touched the ground, no. Since they locked her up. When he looks back up, Octavia opens her mouth, but it’s Lexa’s voice that he hears. “Bellamy, you should awaken.”

He jolts awake, sitting up so fast his head spins. Sweat drips down the side of his face, his fingers digging into the fur that’s covering his bed. He blinks at the person sitting next to him, and it’s not Octavia, because she can barely look at him after his short alliance with Pike; it’s not his mom, who he so often wishes he could see again; not the dead coming back to haunt him; and it’s not Clarke, even though she’s the only person he trusts. It’s Lexa.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, still panting heavily as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s kind of an awkward situation. They’re not… _Well acquainted_ enough for her to pay him visits in the middle of the night and bow down over his sleeping body and stare at him like that isn’t creepy.

“I felt a sudden urge to relieve myself.”

“Okay,” he starts, voice gruff, still doing that thing where he looks at her questioningly and a little funny because he still doesn’t believe she’s _that_ naive. “But why are you _here_?”

“Upon my stroll back towards my chambers I heard screaming. I thought you had encountered an intruder coming from inside your quarters. I would be a fool if I did not think Azgeda would try and undermine my orders.”

He rubs his eyes, as the dizziness slowly disappears. He sinks back a little, relaxes his shoulders. “No Azgeda assassins, just a nightmare.” No Ice Nation member to take him out of his misery.

She looks like she’s considering something very hard, before she folds down the back of her nightgown and sits down next to his feet carefully. She looks a little awkward, sitting on his bed, her whole body stiff. Softly, she asks, “What was it about?”

“Mount Weather,” he says, and there’s a little heat he forgets to cover up in favor of her feelings. She didn’t give crap about his feelings or the lives of 300 innocent people back then either.

“Oh,” she answers, dumbly, looking away from him. She never does that. She folds her hands together in her lap, looks down at them and fuck him for feeling bad about it, too. “I never apologized for what I did.”

He tightens his jaw, fists balling. It’s not even that he’s pissed about what she did, because deep down he knows he’d do the same if it was the choice between his people or anyone else's. He’d probably give the clan he was betraying a heads up, but that’s just a tiny detail. He’s pissed about what happened, yeah. Not about what she did.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he finally tells her, staring at the tattoo on her neck. She looks almost human now, in his room, hair up and messy, moonlight reflecting off her pale skin. “You did what you had to do to survive. To help you people survive. I can’t blame you for that when I would have done the same thing.”

Her head snaps up, towards him. For the first time he doesn’t see the mighty heda, _heda leksa kom treekru_ , he sees just her. Lexa. Just a girl. “You would have?”

He sighs, long and heavy. “Yeah.”

“Clarke, she said she would have… found another way.” She frowns, a piece of hair falling in her face, and a part of him that he saves for just his people wants to reach out and hold her hand, tell her it’s going to be okay. But she’s not his people and he doesn’t want to expose his weaknesses. “There was not another way, Bellamy Blake. I know, because I tried. Not without more of my people dying.”

“I know. Clarke is…” Clarke is a lot of things, but now is not the time, and this is not the person he should share this with. Lexa looks like she understands what’s he’s trying to say, like she’s run all the possible scenarios and outcomes through her head a million times and still came up with the same answer, like he has. She did what she had to do, she did what he would’ve done. Clarke would have never done the same thing given the choice, she’s better, less selfish. He licks his dry lips, swallows a little, “She’s _good_.”

She blinks at him for a few more seconds before she straightens up, eyes a tiny bit brighter than before. “I am sorry, Bellamy Blake. Not for what I did, but for what you had to do that night.”

“Yeah,” he half-asses a grin, sad, “Me too.” He shakes his head a little, trying to shake off the tension that’s in the room. He isn’t supposed to be getting along with her. “You can call me Bellamy, you know.”

She furrows her brow together, tilts her head in question. “Is Bellamy Blake not your name?”

“It is.” He almost laughs. She’s not wrong. “Bellamy’s much shorter. More casual.”

“Well. Fine. I guess we can leave formalities behind, now that you have exposed yourself so barely to me.”

He looks down at his private _area_ , because he does sleep naked, but he was pretty sure everything was covered up pretty neatl — ”No, not like that, you fool,” she interrupts his thought process, a faint blush on her cheeks. “The subconscious is the most deepest and darkest part of us all. Tonight, you shared that with me. I thank you, Bellamy Bl — _Bellamy_.”

He shrugs, because he’s casual about all of this. He feels a little uneasy and like he’s about to die out of embarrassment, but he’s cool. She can think whatever the hell she wants.

He nods at her as she gets up from his bed, sending him another one of those heavy looks, like she’s carrying the world on her shoulders and now shares that weight with him. “‘Night, Lexa.”

“Why yes it is night, Bellamy.”

He sends her a disbelieving look, but for the first time seems to believe her genuineness. “Sleep well, Lexa.”

“I will try. Reshop, Bellamy.”

.

Lexa sits down next to Clarke during supper, glares at Titus until he takes a step back and leaves them be. The blonde is looking at Bellamy, next to a fire a few feet from them, sharing hushed whispers with his sister, the one they call Octavia.

“Hello Clarke. Why are you staring at Bellamy and his sister?” Clarke almost chokes on her soup and averts her eyes towards Lexa, ignoring the people staring at them. Lexa has never been good at keeping her voice down, partly because she’s used to addressing crowds, mainly because she doesn’t care.

“Lexa, just because I am part of your alliance now doesn’t mean we’re friends.” She stiffens, but doesn’t look at her directly.

“I know this,” she responds without skipping a beat. “We are not the people we once were.” Her heart is beating loudly in her throat, but nothing in her face gives it away. She cannot push Clarke into something she doesn’t want. It wouldn’t be fair, she wouldn’t want that for her. “But I got Roan to bring you to me because I felt like we could still work together, form an alliance. Was I mistaken?”

“No,” she says, soft, closing her eyes with a sigh. Firmer, “No.” She opens her eyes, looks back at Bellamy and the reckless child that serves under Indra. She bites on her bottom lip, considers how to put it into words that Lexa will understand. “It’s been three months since Gina died. Bellamy hasn’t visited her grave yet. Octavia is worried.”

Lexa is still looking at Clarke while stares off in the distance, pulling on the grass beside them idly. She is very beautiful in the light casted by the fire. She is always very beautiful. “Who is this Gina you speak of?”

“She was Bellamy’s girlfriend.” Lexa purses her lips, tilts her head a little in thought. He had a friend who is a girl? She doesn’t see the need for the word girl to be part of the phrase. Isn’t a friend who is a girl also your friend?

“Like him and you?” Lexa looks at her, all serious and, well. Serious. Clarke almost laughs out loud, but that feels too intimate. To be laughing with someone who’s face you spit in not too long ago.

“ _Partner._ Like you and Costia.” You and me, Lexa wants to say, but doesn’t. She justs nods, eyes finding Bellamy again. He looks like his usual self, angry, but more — _sad._ “I see.”

“She died in Mount Weather when Ice Nation blew it up.”

“He was in love with this Gina girl.”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Clarke sighs, tearing her eyes away from the only Sky people siblings. She almost looks like she’s in pain. “I didn’t know her, or them together. But I think she made him feel normal. For a little while, anyway.”

She must still look confused because Clarke elaborates, “To feel normal in this world, that’s. It’s _everything_. We don’t get that often, not when we’re being chased or, or betrayed or tortured all the time. It’s a boring feeling, but it’s nice, and a privilege not all of us get.”

Lexa nods, tries not to let the use of the word betrayed sting her, tries not to show Clarke she still cares. She has other things to worry about.

She doesn’t sleep for the entire night, busy questioning people and torturing them until they give her the answers she wants. Proof. Then, she declares war.

Bellamy finds her, out on the battlefield, armor looking a little big on him, but it fits him. He’s a fighter. “I’m coming along with you.”

“I do not think so. You are one of the leaders of Skaikru. It is too dangerous.”

“So? You’re the leader of thirteen times the clan that I lead. That’s more dangerous.”

She sighs—because she doesn’t really want to waste her energy on these kind of trivialities when she’s about to behead Nia—pauses her movements and offers him what’s in her hands.

Tentatively he agrees, and dips his fingers in it. He looks at them like they don’t belong to him, like they’re unfamiliar. “Do I just smear it all around my eyes?”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Clarke says, sarcastic as she laughs at the scene in front of her, taking a few steps closer to them.

She’s still laughing, eyes bright and teeth shining in the candlelight, when Bellamy smears some of it on her cheek, and she shoves him, sticking out her tongue, reaching for the jar of face paint in his hand. He chuckles in response, loud and brash and almost _surprised_ he can still make that kind of sound, holding the object up above her head and making her jump. Lexa considers them, carefully. It’s a strange sight, almost—

“You look happy,” Lexa says matter-of-factly, interrupting the two and their heads snap up immediately to look at their commander. Bellamy has the decency to look away, clearing his throat as he unconsciously takes a step away from Clarke. The blonde, however, is staring, unashamed and questioningly.

“What do you mean?” She wipes at her cheek with the back of her hand distractedly, only making it worse.

“You are smiling in a way you rarely do anymore.”

“I never thought I would be again, not after what I…” Bellamy’s head snaps into her direction, and Lexa doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s glaring. Clarke ignores him, but corrects herself. “What we did. All the people we lost. But, I guess,” she frowns, staring at one of her particularly bigger candles, like it holds all the answers in the world. “I guess that I can picture tomorrow again, without thinking about how I’m going to get through today.”

“Good,” she whispers, and they look at each other for a few seconds before she’s clearing her throat and adding a more firm, commander-like, “Good.”

It’s _good_. She’s sharing again. It must mean she doesn’t completely hate her. Then, Lexa takes the jar back from an uncomfortably looking Bellamy and dips two fingers in it. She nods at him, holding up her hand. “Come here.”

With quick, small movements and lean fingers she blackens his eyes, fades it out upwards and downwards so it looks like he has multiple protrusions above and under his eyes. Clarke is watching them with a strange expression on her face when Lexa finishes.

“How do I look?” He grins teasingly at Clarke, and she smiles back at him. There it is again. That smile. “Like an asshole raccoon.”

“So. Regular me with black circles around my eyes?”

“Pretty much,” she snorts, pats him on the shoulder friendly, but her hand lingers. “Be safe,” she tells Bellamy, then turns to Lexa, like she’s just remembering her. “Both of you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

(Lexa notes she hasn’t asked if she can join. She is not ready.)

A “I can’t make any promises,” collectively with, “I will not let him do anything stupid.” Reaches Clarke ears  at the same time and she mutters something incomprehensible in response, rolling her eyes.

Clarke leaves them be with a finale nod and they find their way a few stories down, to the room with a balcony she uses to speak to her people. Bellamy catches her arm right before she’s about the open the doors leading outside, a constant loud roar coming from outside, from her people, ready to fight.

“What are we doing?” He asks, low, and she looks down at his hand, at the doors and back at him. “I have to address my warriors."

“Why?” He almost pleads, brown eyes searching hers. He reminds her of something small, like a child. Warm and stupidly loyal.

She smiles, barely, but like she’s in on a joke. Like she knows _not_ to actually explain it to him now. “You know why.”

“I know _why_ , but,” he licks his lips, furrowing his brow like he’s annoyed at himself. “Why now? You’ve known about the Ice Nation blowing up Mount Weather for months.”

Her eyes soften and she tilts her head. “I am the commander, I cannot act without undeniable proof. Especially not against a clan that was about to rebel against me, against the coalition. That would make me seem like a coward, acting out of fear.”

He scoffs, and it’s obvious he still thinks she has an agenda, some evil master plan that’s going to get his people killed. His people are hers now, and she will not kill her own. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, kicks at the air.

“So, _what_? You just decided that now was the time? You were just now able to fit it into your busy schedule? That you were going to torture a bunch of people until they told you what you wanted to hear? What was this, some sort of convenient two day time period in between a killing spree on the fourth and dinner with Trishanku on the seventh for you to get rid of Queen Nia just before she could make Ontari commander?”

Lexa raises her eyebrows, challengingly. He never backs down when he has the opportunity to question her. “They killed fourty-two people. Do I need more reason than that?” He opens his mouth, closes it, and she still feels like she’s losing. Then, softer. “Fourty- _one_ people.” She swallows, tightly, before adding, “And Gina.”

Straightening her shoulders at the awed look on his face, she proclaims, “Oso throu daun osgeda.” It’s both a promise and an explanation. _We fight together_ .

He blinks at her, strangely touched that she is doing it for Gina, and allows himself one more second of surprise before his face hardens. “Osgeda.”

Then, she kicks open the door and leads them into battle.

.

She usually remembers to take off her cloak before sparring, but two of her Natblidas attacked her as soon as she stepped foot on the practice ground. She didn’t even have time to share her wisdom beforehand, which is her favorite part of their meetings. They’ve been getting more and more enthusiastic as of late. It makes her proud, even if it means she and all but one of her class has to die in order for him or her to truly excel.

She kicks one off her leg, elbows the one on her back until she lets go. One of them gets in a fairly decent hit before suddenly Aden approaches, joining in the fight. He’s _good_ , maybe even the best. Not better than her, not yet, but good.

That’s when it happens. He takes out his knife, throws it from one hand to another, and in a move to stab her, misses and just scratches the inside of her arm. The knife is stuck in her cloak, and before she knows it, Aden rips through the fabric, effectively tearing it apart completely. She has a lot of garments, but this one was her absolute favorite.

“Hod op,” she puts up her hand, shrugging off her cloak and folding it over her arm. It’s beyond repairing. “ _Spichen_ ,” she curses, throwing it on the ground behind her.

“Ai na gon raun,” the boy tries to convince her, still shifting from foot to foot, crouched over, the knife in his hand reflecting in the sunlight and she smiles, wiping some blood from her nose.

“Nou ge pon klin. Just because you caught me off guard does not mean you won the entire battle without even fighting it.” She takes out her sword, points it at him before throwing it behind her. “Blinka au.”

“Sha, heda.”

He’s quick, taller and leaner than the rest of them, but he doesn’t let it hold him back. He’s a good student, but it’s not enough—not yet. He tries to stab her in the shoulder with his stick but she takes him by the wrist, his elbow with her other hand and slams him on the ground, taking his stick and putting it to his throat. She offers him a smile, then looks at the others. “Chon yu nes?”

After, when she’s drinking some water Titus brought her because he cares too much, sweating and even a little worn out ( _good for them_ ), someone approaches them.

“Heda, if you allow me.” The girl Lincoln speaks of plenty, addresses her. She’s saying something polite, formal, but sounds like she actually doesn’t mean a word of it. It’s a strange thing many Sky People do. “I suggest you talk to my brother. I saw you frowning at your coat. He can fix anything.”

Right. The girl, Lincoln’s partner, Octavia. She’s been watching her train the Nightbloods for a while, now. She’s there everyday, just, sitting and watching. Lexa looks at her, and she doesn’t look like Bellamy, not at first sight. She has to look hard, to recognize the similarity in their cheekbones, the curve of their lips, that Blake sparkle of defiance in their eyes.

Finally, she speaks, “I will do so. Thank you, Okteiva kom Skaicru.”

She finds Bellamy soon enough, next to his rover, pressing a girl into it, his hands in her hair, her hands dipping under the band of his pants.

“Bellamy, I must speak to you,” she announces, startling the both of them. They would make two very bad warriors. If she’d been an assassin, by now, they would have been very dead.

He steps back from the girl, the one with the bad leg, called after a bird, she thinks. She’s pretty, tan, smooth. Lexa wonders if Clarke thinks so, too. The girl clears her throat, tucking her shirt back into her jeans and petting her hair down, sending Bellamy a look that Lexa doesn’t understand. “I’ll leave you two.”

She disappears into the back and he looks at her, sighing. “You can’t just walk in. You could’ve knocked.”

“I did not know you had a partner.” She smiles, brash, proud of herself for remembering. “A girlfriend, as you Sky People call it.”

He snorts, wiping his mouth. “She’s not. We just… Find each other when we need to _relax_ , sometimes.” He picks up his shirt, and Lexa furrows her brow together in thought. Relax.

She watches him struggle with the clothing a little longer before she inquires, almost strategic, “What about Clarke?”

He sounds aggravated, puts his arms through the holes of his shirt a little too angrily, smooths the fabric out a little too roughly. “What about her?”

She always thought he felt the same way about her, that he saw the same things in her that she did. She guesses she was wrong.

Lexa decides to change the subject, holding up her most prized garment. “Your sister informed me you could fix my cloak.”

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes softening into less of glare. There’s still a little anger, some fury, but it’s like he no longer solely blames her.

“Yeah. Probably. My mom taught me to sew, I got decent enough at it before she,” he pauses, probably considering if she’s worth the information, sucks in a small breath of air. He avoids eye-contact. “She, uhhh, died.”

She offers it to him. “Thank you. 

  
He takes it from her and unfolds it, only to refold it, because he always thinks he has to be better at everything and he’s Bellamy. She considers him, blinking slowly, lips slightly pursed and he snaps. “ _What_?”

“What is this sound?”

“The music, you mean?”

_My ex man brought his new girlfriend / She’s like “Oh. My. God!” / But I’m just gonna shake / And to the fella over there / With the hella good hair / Won’t you come on over, baby? / We can shake, shake, shake_

“You call this music?” She looks up at wherever the sound is coming from, mouth slightly parted in awe. “The sounds, are they even human?”

His eyes light up, amused as he watches her. He’s heard some of their music, it’s… different, to say the least. “Yeah, it’s a long story. It’s kind of ancient music. The worst kind of all. Pop."

“Pop,” she repeats, bumping her head to the music a little, stiff and awkward and making Bellamy grin, small, but light. “I must say I very much like it.”

“You can stay here and listen. If you want,” he mentions without really thinking about it, and before she makes any assumptions and thinks he actually enjoys her company, he quickly adds, “While I work on your cloak I mean.”

She looks surprised, almost like she’s breaking some sort of unspoken rule, but eventually settles on a workbench next to the Rover while he gets out some supplies he can work with. She’s never looked this much out of place, shoulders and back eerily straight, bobbing her head a little, hands resting in her lap.

He huffs humouredly, shaking his head to himself. She’s… not what he expected.

(He doesn’t know, then, how much he’ll regret letting her stay that day. She found Raven afterwards, asked her to make more ‘music making machines’ and demanded they play Rick Astley’s ‘ _Never Gonna Give You Up_ ’ during every collective meal. Every. Collective. Meal.)

He hands her cloak to Titus a few days later, only to find himself with fifteen horses to his name the following day. He goes to Lexa’s quarters, even though he knows he shouldn’t. She’s still the Commander and there’s about fifty guys who’ll kill him when they catch him before even considering asking any questions. Besides, people will talk. He doesn’t need that.

“Would you care to explain why you gave me _fifteen_ horses?” He enters the room without knocking and Lexa jumps up from her armchair, hand not moving away from her sword until she recognizes him.

He looks over to see Clarke asleep on her couch, a piece of paper resting on her stomach, a crayon lying underneath her hand hanging off the side. He tries to ignore it, tries not to let it make his blood boil, tries not to care. Tries. He tears his eyes away from her, back onto Lexa.

“Shof op,” she hisses, taking a few steps closer to him, checking warily to see if Clarke’s still asleep. She crosses her arms, and he swallows, tight, turning it down a notch.

Because he isn’t a total push-over and doesn’t want to give up full control, he starts with, “Ai don as yu prom op.” _I asked you a question_. Before he repeats his question, this time more quiet. It’s a compromise.

“For the cloak,” she answers, and she actually looks like she’s telling the truth. It makes him deflate. It’s almost like—like she isn’t used to people just doing things for her. Like they always expect something in return.

He can’t help the way he retort comes out, bitter and annoyed. “It was a favor. That’s all.”

It’s not because of Clarke, or because of her. It’s because. He hates himself, for empathizing with her. It’s true that she’s had a calling for all of her life. Ever since she bled for the first time she’s had a purpose. To become the best, to eventually kill the people she spent most of her time with, to do right by her people. The same kind of calling he’d had every since he held Octavia’s chubby little hand in own.

But, he’s angry. At himself, for forgiving her that easily, for seeing her as something more than just the commander who made him murder three hundred innocent people, people who trusted him, Maya. The commander who turned Clarke into this, this person, _Wanheda,_ that can barely look at herself in the mirror. The commander who’d do the exact same thing given the same choice.

He doesn’t want to forgive her, but he has. Because she’s not just, she’s not Commander Lexa. Part of her is, but she’s also— _Lexa_. Lexa who—when training a bunch of kids to fight to the death—will literally be in a bitch mood for days if she hurts one of them too badly, who’s he has a perfectly timed rolling of the eyes thing with whenever Titus speaks, who’s crazy into disco and eurovision songs and gives him fifteen horses for three damn hours worth of sowing.

(It’s also a little about Clarke being asleep in someone’s else’s room, but he’s not even ready to face that part of his unconscious himself.)

“Thank you,” she responds, soft, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she checks if the blonde is still sleeping.

“I don’t hate you, Lexa.” He remarks, but doesn’t look at her. Her head snaps to him and he still can’t look. “You don’t have to keep expecting the worst of me.”

“I feel like our relationship has grown significantly since your arrival, Bellamy,” she states, and he groans, throwing his head back. “Don’t say shit like that, Lexa. You always know how to make it weird.”

She grins, reaches out and pats him on the shoulder, a little uncomfortable, twice, the pause in between them just a little too slow. Like she’s rehearsed it before, in some sort of diplomatic class on how to be friendly.

He snorts and there’s a moment of silence. He nods towards the door, finally, takes an awkward step back as they both avoid looking at Clarke very hard. “I’ll, uhh, I’ll leave you. You two." 

“Thank you again for fixing my cloak, Bellamy.”

To defuse the awkward tension and establish some sense of dominance, he adds, “I’ll keep one horse, for Octavia. You can have the other fourteen back.”

She bows her head in agreement, glint of amusement in her eyes. “As you wish.”

.

He comes over to watch the Nightbloods one day, with Octavia. The sit side by side in a silence Lexa is jealous of. The one where people are just comfortable not speaking, instead of checking the time to see how much longer they have to stay. Once she finishes, he stalks over to her.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. Then, “I’d like to teach them.”

“They are being taught plenty. I teach them how to fight, Titus teaches them the history and purpose of the Flame—”

“No. Real stuff. Like, like the human body. Clarke could give me some pointers, maybe and biology! Monty knows all kind of shit about trees and plants and the sky, probably. And I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve always taken an interest in history so I—”

She wipes some sweat of her forehead with the back of her hand, while Titus presses a wet cloth to a cut on her collarbone. “Fine.”

He raises his eyebrows while Octavia snorts loudly, because, seriously? He had like an entire monologue prepared. “Fine? You’re just okay with it like that?”

She sighs, swats Titus’ hand away, picks up her sword and puts it away. “The mornings are for training. You can do whatever you please with them at any other time of the day.”

He takes the whole teaching thing pretty seriously. He thinks of entire lesson plans, tags chapters of his books that have cool pictures, asks pointers on certain subjects from experts, plans guest lessons like that one time he had Raven show them how to make a rocket out of sticks, leaves and a little gunpowder. He even gives them homework.

He’s not stupid, he isn’t under the illusion that he’s the smartest person on the world, or that the Sky People had the best education possible, or that the Grounder clans aren’t capable of teaching anything significant, but they had old books, and movies, and music and it taught them a lot. He wants to give that knowledge to others, too. And the kids, they like it, because there’s no obligations or pressure to excel. It’s just fun.

In the beginning, Lexa doesn’t really care. She leaves immediately after practice without giving him so much as a second glance and she keeps it up until she hears a story from one of the kids about a game called soccer. She stays, one time, and then another. Not often and certainly not always, but whenever she has the time, she lingers.

She corners him after a lesson one day, lowers her voice, looking around suspiciously before asking, “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘dog’?”

It takes him a second to realize she’s talking about Hades, and how he called his three-headed guard dog of the underworld Cerberus. Which in old Sanskrit means ‘spotted’. Lord of death calling his dog Spot. Literally. He had to share that story with the children, got him a few good laughs. Oh yeah, history can totally be cool.

However, Lexa probably thinks he was talking about some mystical weird concept. Considering Cerberus had three heads, a serpent as a tail and multiple snakes coming from his body—she’s not wrong.

Dryly, he comments, “I mean a dog, like the animal.”

“But he kept it in his home?”

“It’s a furry thing, in all kind of sizes, with teeth and a tail?” He tries to explain but he’s not sure he’s making any sense. He thought she knew what a dog was. He’s seen a few stray ones around here and there. She can’t _not_ know the greatest animal in the world, right?

Her eyes light up, and she nods like she’s known all along. “Ah, a wolf?”

“No, a _dog_. Like… Like they used on that grounder farm we visited, to herd the sheep together.”

“So,” she concludes, unimpressed, “A smaller wolf with less teeth? For protection?”

“Yeah, sometimes. But people also used to keep them for company, as a friend.”

“In their home.” She says it like she _needs_ him to defy her. When he doesn’t, she sends him a funny look, almost incredulous and he suddenly feels responsible for the entire reputation of dogs. “ _Why_?”

“Because,” he snorts, humorless. He’s not trying to be rude, but like. They’re dogs, dude. He has to defend them. “They’re great animals. Loyal, friendly. They’re cute.”

“Cute?” She scrunches up her nose. “I do not see why you would take a wild animal into your home because they simply _look cute_.”

He shrugs, shoving the last of his books into his bag. She has like a million candles in her curtain-clad room, like that’s not a fucking fire hazard. “Ancient times, I guess.”

He doesn’t really think of it anymore, sees it as just some regular small talk between two people. But, Lexa. She has this thing where she, in her head, turns regular small talk in really important fundamental conversations in a relationship.

So, naturally, two months later, for his birthday, she gets him a dog. Not that she actually gives it to him, she just has Titus thrust it into his arms one afternoon. It’s not like he has classes to teach, or a guard to run, or people to lead. Like he has time for a fucking _dog_. Worst part of it all—it’s one of those ones that isn’t fluffy, so it’s not like it even counts. It’s not a real dog.

“You could call it Spot after your hero’s dog.” She clears her throat, hastily adding, “Or something else. I do not care.” but it’s quiet and doesn’t feel genuine.

(Also, she thinks Hades is his hero. They’re going to have to discuss sometime soon.)

He looks at the ugly, small bean and suddenly it hits him. French bulldog. The kind of dog she gave him, it’s a French bulldog. And _okay_ , he thinks as it rubs his nose against his chin, _it’s not just ugly and small, it’s kind of cute, too_.

“It doesn’t even have spots,” he points out, stupid.

Her shoulders sink, and she looks at the dog, regretful.

“It could be ironic,” he remarks, quickly. Petting the puppy’s head like his life depends on it. He actually kind of loves her, already.

Lexa’s eyes light up and she reaches out to tickle it’s stomach, it squirms in his arms, satisfied. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoes, sure. “It’ll be her thing. The dog Spot without spots. All the other dogs will be jealous.”

She smiles, small and shy, bumping her shoulder against his. “I can see now what you meant. About them being cute.”

“Would you like to hold her?” But he’s already handing Spot over to her before she can protest, even though she looks a little scared. Who would’ve thought… Heda Lexa, frightened by a puppy.

“It is baring it’s teeth, Bellamy,” she exclaims, panicked as she holds it out, both arms stretched. “I do not think it likes me very much.”

“She’s trying to lick you,” he laughs, adjusting her arms so it’s resting against her chest. “It’s how dogs kiss and show their affection.”

She visibly calms down a little, looking down at the mutt in her arms with a fond grin. “It is so tiny.” Spot yawns and Bellamy has the sudden urge to cry.

So, okay. It was a pretty great birthday present.

.

“Heda, with all due respect—you can’t just _cancel_ Nightblood training. Ai nou na teik yo dula daun.” He can’t let her do that? Who’s he? Her father?

She speaks up excitedly, only to shimmer down and frown in the middle of her sentence. “It is a…”

“Field trip,” he fills in, bored. He doesn’t really see why Lexa has to defend her actions. She’s the Commander, not bald dude.

“Ait. Bellamy wants to take them towards the mountains. The one they call Monty will teach them about...”

“Ecosystems. The air’s colder up there, different animals, I don’t even know.”

“And Bellamy will discuss…” She looks at Bellamy, helpless.

“Landforms. Tectonic forces. Volcanism. That kinda shit. I have a fun story about Pompei.”

“Heda,” Titus pleads, offended. “Not once was a training skipped, not even when the fourth commander fell terribly ill and died later that night. Do you really want to be the Commander that…” He continues, but Bellamy doesn’t really register much of it. At least not until Lexa, who looks like she’s about to have a stroke out of boredom, cuts him off with a firm: “God, Titus. Just... Go float yourself.”

By any count, Bellamy uses the phrase _a lot_. He says it to the Rover, when it doesn’t ignite as fast as he wants it to; to himself whenever he drops something or walks into something or does anything dumb, really; to Clarke, endearingly; to Lexa, when she teases him about winning a chess game; to Spot, when she refuses to listen to her name or any of his commands, really; to Murphy, just because.

(She asked him once, brow furrowed together in confusion, which is kind of her go-to look whenever they’re together. “What does it mean?”

“Huh?” He’d answered, because he was kind of occupied trying to teach Spot to sit whenever he said sit. She would _not_ listen.

“Clarke said it once. To me.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, scratches Spot’s back before turning to look up at Lexa. He tries to think of a similar meaning, something he heard Lincoln use once he thinks. “ _Jok yu_. But.” He sighs, getting up to face her properly. He’s usually okay at comforting people, but with Lexa he’s just really bad. Lamely, he offers, “She probably didn’t mean it?”

“I am capable of separating my feelings from duty, Bellamy. For the good of my people it is one of my duties as a Commander is to recognize when someone is lying to me.” She smiles, sad. “She was not.”)

He’s having a small existential crisis because is he really hanging out with Lexa so much she’s taken over his habits? He doesn’t have much time to worry about it, because Lexa looks absolutely horrified.

He’s still recovering from the shock, eyebrows raised, mouth half open, when she glances over at him. He pulls himself together, nods  
She rolls her shoulders back, tips her chin up, grip tightening on her arm rests. This time, more certain, “Go float yourself, Titus. _Nou mou_. I am Commander. You will not tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Titus makes a strange, almost inhuman noise, before gritting his teeth together and giving in. “Kom yu beja, heda.”

She smirks over at him, pleased, attempting to send him a thumbs up but using the wrong finger. Which only makes the entire situation ten times funnier. “ _En daun leik daun_.”

And that’s that, for sure.

.

“Sochu, bitches?”

“God, Octavia,” Clarke exclaims, a hand pressed to her heart. Raven snorts dryly, arms crossed over her chest as she actually answers the question, “Nothing much. Just wondering what the hell those two are talking about.”

Octavia is flanked by Monty and Miller, and the three of them lean back against the shed, following Raven’s gaze.

Bellamy and Lexa are sitting on a log with their legs on either side of the tree trunk, a chess board that Bellamy found in a wreckage a few weeks ago balancing in between them on the wooden axis. They don’t talk a lot, but now and then one of them makes a comment, and the other one has a facial expression that’s not completely weirded out.

“Yeah, what _are_ they talking about?” Monty wonders, squinting his eyes in mild suspicion. Is Bellamy… _laughing_? Wait… Lexa has teeth?

Clarke answers, “Murder.” followed by Miller, Octavia and Raven retorting, unimpressed, “Clarke.”

“Jok of,” Clarke shoves a snickering Raven into her other three supposed friends, eyes narrowed.

Monty rubs his arm, sending the blonde a glare, “Hey, I’m an innocent bystander!”

“Stop trying to be modest, Griffin, it doesn’t look good on you,” Miller cuts in, and he makes people that look unintimated look like they're scared for their lives, he’s _that_ unintimidated.

Raven squints into the distance, envisions her next words by waving a hand in the air, spelling it out. “Clarke Griffin and her golden vagina.”

A few feet over, Lexa is beating Bellamy’s ass in chess. “What was that?”

“What was what?” He doesn’t look up from the board, trying to focus on his next move.

Lexa considers him, trying to gauze his reaction, head slightly tilted. “Earlier. That boy from Skaikru. You tried talking to him and he ignored you.”

“Oh, Jasper,” he confirms, voice casual but Lexa doesn’t miss the way his fingers ball into fists, turning his knuckles white. “He just hates me for what happened at Mount Weather. Because of what me and Clarke did.”

“You seem upset.” She observes and he scoffs, ignoring her as he moves one of his knights on the board. She sighs, long, resting her chin on top of her hand. She makes a move, mauling over how to make him feel better, and he makes a move, mauling over his situation with Jasper. Then, finally, she speaks. “Would you like me to have him killed?”

Bellamy’s head snaps up to find Lexa blinking at him, all innocently and unashamed, like she didn’t just propose killing off on of their own. “No,” he declares as soon as his brain starts working again. “ _No_!”

“But he hurt you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want him dead.” He relaxes a little, because she _was_ serious, but at least she had good intentions.

Lexa looks at him for a few more seconds, then she looks at the board, picking up her queen, like she’s channeling it’s strength. She sighs again, frustrated, then tells him, “I do not understand your motives, but I will accept your decision.” She puts the queen back on the board and traps his king. “Checkmate. I win.”

Bellamy sits back, stares at the board in disbelieve. “You totally just used Jasper to distract me.” He shakes his head, and she shrugs, smirking at him, batting her eyelashes innocently. He huffs, indignant. “And so the student becomes the teacher.”

(“Look, I’m not saying they’re talking about multiple ways to pleasure you, but they’re talking about multiple ways to pleasure you,” Raven notes, unabashed, from afar and _someone_ elbows her in the ribs so hard, she remembers it every time she stretches for a week.)

They’re not always as friendly. Bellamy’s competitive and Lexa’s stubborn, it doesn’t always make for a great team. It’s been over a month since they’ve made their chess games a habit, and Clarke is tired of wondering so she stalks over there when they’re obviously in an argument.

“Clarke, great.” Lexa announces, cutting Bellamy off mid sentence. “Who of us do you think would be a more suitable procreational partner?” Bellamy is about to open his mouth when she adds, “For the survival of our kind.”

“She means which one of us is hotter.”

“I do not understand why you keep referring to our bodily temperature. I do not see what it could possibly have to—”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, correcting himself in favor of starting another argument while they’re already arguing. “Who’s more attractive.”

Lexa looks like she’s going to argue, but then nods, small, timid. Clarke looks from one to the other like she’s watching a tennis game, then, crosses her arms, uncrosses them. “This is what you guys talk about all day? Which one of you looks better?”

(Clarke _is_ actually annoyed, but she is also trying to stall, trying to think of a way to talk herself out of it. Because, Lexa — she’s pretty in the purest kind of way, has the kind of green eyes she wants to get lost in for days and when she smiles… When she really _smiles,_ Clarke kind of wants to die a little _._ But, Bellamy, tan skin, dark curls, with his dumb saviour complex and God, his hands are every artists dream. He’s—something familiar, like home, in some weird dysfunctional way. It’s an impossible decision and they know it.)

“We need an answer, Clarke, or we’ll end up breaking the coalition.” Bellamy smirks, teasing and she thinks he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing to her.

“And starting another war,” Lexa presses, for good measure.

“I would pick Raven over the both of you anyday.” She saw your challenge, villains, and raised you a better one.

They both consider it—Bellamy just shrugging after a few seconds, satisfied with the answer or at least smart enough to know he won’t get a better one, but Lexa looks like she’s about to break her brain from thinking about it so hard.

“Would you call her… _relaxing_?” Lexa asks, eyebrows hiked, and Bellamy almost chokes on his own spit, kicking her in the shin.

“I…” Clarke starts, thinks it over again, gives up and then sends them both a weird look. Lexa is rubbing her leg, glaring at Bellamy, while he seems to be mouthing obscene stuff into her direction, a whispering discussion starting back up. She feels strangely excluded. “I guess?”

The sunlight's reflecting off Lexa’s hair and Bellamy is sitting just enough in the wind that he’s suddenly smelling extra great and for the first time she notices she doesn’t have a place with them. She didn’t think there’d ever be a day she would hate seeing them be friends, because, powers combined, they’ll be the absolute fucking death of her.

.

Bellamy honestly doesn’t try and make a habit out of walking into Lexa’s room without permission, but it’s kind of just his thing. If there’s any way he can subtly protest the rules around here, he is going to do it.

She’s sitting in front of her bed, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees. Her eyes are closed, but she sighs, dramatic and a little too long. “Bellamy. Can I assist you with anything?”

“I came here to talk to you about some asshole from Sangredakru and how you’re still allowing him to exclude Wastelanders, but I see you're communicating with Satan, or whatever you’re doing.”

“I am meditating,” she responds, eyes still closed. Then peaking through one eye, “Who is this Satan you speak of?”

“No one important.” He looks at her form, curiously. She looks really peaceful, and what he wouldn’t give for a moment of peace, of his memories leaving him the fuck alone. Then, like it’s against every principle he has, he forces out, “How does it work?”

She pats the spot next to her, still without sparing him a second glance, and reluctantly, he sinks down next to her, pressing his knees against his chest. It’s not like he actually wants to try, but if he can discuss the segregation issue with her like this, then he’ll do what it takes.

“You have a lot of fucking candles,” he simply states and she sends him a pointed look. She reaches out, pushes his knees down until he lets her, stretching out his legs.

“Close your eyes,” she commands and he pulls a face she can’t see before doing so. “You are a child,” she comments, sighing, like she knows exactly what he did.

He tries it for like half a minute before he gives up, irritated. “Am I supposed to do something, or what?”

She cracks her neck, adjusts her position a little. “I always think of a world without pain, a City of Light.”

“That’s it?” He raises an incredulous eyebrow, but she just hums a “mhm,” in response.

He tries it for another minute before getting up. What the hell is a City of Light? “We will talk about the Wastelanders in the Deadzone when you finish, yeah?”

“I will find you when that happens.” She smiles, almost giddy with herself, tries to hide it. “Do not let a candle hit you on your way out.”

.

He’s just spent two hours discussing job assignments for their people with Clarke, when she hands him an apple and then casually tells him about Octavia. “I heard about her and Lincoln. Congrats.”

“What?” He wasn’t really listening before, too busy staring at the side of her face like some obsessed creep. He needs to get it together.

He cuts off a piece of apple with his knife, puts it in his mouth and stops chewing as soon as Clarke stops staring him down to see if he’s serious and continues. “Lexa allowed their marriage. I thought you knew.”

“Don’t make this a thing, Bellamy. Just be happy for her.”

“I won’t, I am, it’s just…” He looks at his apple, tightens his grip on his knife, mind racing. It’s always just been Octavia and him, thinking of Octavia as no longer just Octavia, but Octavia and Lincoln, and Bellamy whenever she feels like it—it makes him feel sick.

“I’m sure she was going to tell you,” Clarke empathizes before she stops walking, shoving the list of jobs down her pocket, looking rather annoyed.  but I’m glad she hasn’t yet. If this was how you were going to react then I’m glad you get to practice your ‘ _I’m so happy for you_ ’ face a little more.”

“This is my regular face.”

She beams, hits him in the shoulder playfully, “I know. It could use a little work.”

He huffs, smirking, and it feels good, lighter, now. They’re no longer constantly fighting for their lives and it’s nice. “Please, you love my face.”

“Bosh moba, Hedas kom Skaikru. I did not mean to interrupt. Could I speak to Bellamy for a moment?” He turns to find Lexa is blinking at them, and subconsciously he distances himself a little from Clarke, like he’s doing something wrong.

Clarke stops laughing, nods at Lexa with a smile no longer tainted by betrayal. “I have a shift starting at the Medbay in… fifteen minutes ago. Nyko is going to murder me.” She shoves him one more time for good measure, and they both laugh before she disappears in the crowd.

“Walk with me,” Lexa suggests, but she’s already walking away from him, arms behind her back, taking long slow strides, people parting before her like the Red Sea. He hurries to catch up to her, clenches his jaw a little. “If this is about Octavia, I already know.”

Lexa’s eyes widen, slightly, alarmed.

“Clarke told me.”

They pause in front of a merchant, listen to him explain where he got his lobster and politely try some. Lexa orders Titus (who’s been shadowing them the entire time) to buy half of his supply before they continue.

She looks conflicted. “I wanted to ask about your thoughts on the matter before I gave my full permission, but your sister, she seems dead set on being her own person. Rightfully so. I could not deny her something she requested—”

“I understand, Lexa. You don’t have to try and justify yourself.”

“Good,” she agrees, sends him a sympathetic smile. “I do not have any siblings but if anyone wanted to marry you, I would want the best for them, too.”

He swallows, tight, because there’s about a millions feelings of uncomfortableness and awkwardness and ‘ _I never meant to care this much_ ’ crawling on the inside of his chest and up his throat, begging for him to scream.

He decides on, “Lincoln is the best.” He honestly doesn’t have that much to complain about, being petty is just one of his more well-developed qualities.

There’s another few minutes of silence before they pass the Medbay, and Clarke waves at them, smiling even though Nyko seems to be ripping her a new one, but in a nice way.

“She is fond of you.”

He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. He’s getting tired of her stupid observations. Nobody really ever calls him out like this. “I know.”

“You seem to be just as fond of her.”

He snorts, but not wholeheartedly. “Sure, now that we’re not constantly fearing for our lives there’s a lot less pressure on our relationship.” 

He cuts off the two last pieces of his apple and puts in in his mouth while Lexa mounds it over in her head. “Why do you not court her? Use her to—relax.”

“Hold up. It’s not like _that_.” He actually looks really bothered at the assumption. “I don’t _use_ Raven. We use each other. It’s a mutual thing, based on a lot of respect. We understand each other.”

Lexa tries to smile, but it looks painful. “You are not answering my question.”

“Because…” He kicks a rather large rock, curses when he stubs his toe. ” _Because_ you’re fond of her, too. And I don’t want things to change between _us._ ”

She halts them, puts her arm before his chest. Looks at him like he just proclaimed his eternal love for her, strangely touched and not even a little suspicious. She just believes him. “You would give up Clarke? For me?”

He swallows, hard, before he nods, once. Short but clear enough. “In some way, yes.”

“I would not,” she tells him, honestly and he hates her a little for it. How she makes no apologies for her selfishness, admires it, too. She knows her flaws, doesn’t feel ashamed for them.

“I know.” That’s the worst part. He offers her the last piece of apple. “It took us a long time to get here, Lex. For me to trust you, and respect you like I do. To not feel like I wanted to— _murder_ something every time I saw your face.”

She takes the piece, and looks at him, really _looks_ at him. He’s smiling, but there’s a tiredness in his eyes, crinkles by his eyes, some dirt on his jaw. “I’ve fucked up enough things in my life to me three lifetimes.”

“Nothing will ever change the way I think about you, Bellamy,” she confesses, genuine, before putting the apple piece in her mouth. She considers it, then steps closer to him, opening her arms.

“What are you doing?” He narrows his eyes, suspicious.

“I feel like it would be a natural progression for our relationship to embrace after an intimate moment like the one we just shared.”

“For fuck sake’s,” he mutters because she’s such a nerd, putting his arms around her shoulders. She pats him on the back, shoulders stiff, then informs him, “I am not really enjoying this.”

“Me neither,” he laughs, stepping back. He’s a pretty casual toucher himself, but Lexa is obviously not and it makes for one hell of an awkward hug.

.

Octavia is the first of the Sky People to get one. If by one, you mean she plasters them all up her back and shoulders right after she announces her wedding to Lincoln. Ironically, they match his, creeping up all the way to her neck and behind her ears. It’s a heavy choice for her first, but when does his sister ever do something half-assed. Raven gets an all black butterfly on her spine on her lower back, to cover up her scar, and an entire array of flowers up the side of her bad leg, to outway the bad. Kane gets a band around his upper arm, Miller gets a nice-looking tiger on his right ribs, Monty gets something on his ankle in remembrance of his dad, Harper has birds splattered all over collarbone. Even Clarke has the outline of a few roses on her shoulder and there’s the sunflower right underneath her breasts, the first one he sees in color. She showed him by pulling down the collar of her shirt. Nevermind he almost stroked out trying to be super casual about it.

Point is—he can’t stay behind. He’s been here for a year now, and he finally feels like it’s no longer ‘me against them’. It feels like home.

So nothing like his first anniversary to get a tattoo. Octavia practically attacks him out of joy when he tells her, almost giddy at the thought of _her_ brother, the history nerd who raised her, getting a _tattoo._

He contemplates what he wants to get as his very first tattoo for a while. Maybe some Roman numerals on his chest, or the map of the world on his back. Hell, maybe a full size portrait of Spot on his thigh. He doesn’t really have anything he feels like he wants on his skin for the rest of his life.

Lexa comes with him, because she obviously has experience and she’s like his best bro. Besides, Miller would just make backhanded comments the entire time and try and convince him to get something only an asshole would get like his own face on his chest pecs, or something ridiculous like Clarke initials over his heart. Lexa doesn’t like talking, that’s what he needs.

Ultimately, she helps him decide on what he wants to. He wants to honor the coalition, show his undeniable support, because penultimately, the coalition saved all of them.

When the tattoo artist, Jeka, finishes, Lexa is quiet for a moment. She’s been getting a new tribal tattoo around her ankle. Most of her other tattoos are symbolic, she’s getting this one just because she likes it.

“It is the same as mine?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, holding out his arm. There’s an infinity sign on the inside of his upper arm. She hesitates, then runs her finger over it carefully. It stings a lot, but he tries not to flinch. It’s almost like Lexa doesn’t know what pain is, already resting her full weight on her ankle by putting her free hand on top of it. “Why?”

“For our alliance.”

“The coalition has it’s own symbol. Titus designed it.” She isn’t _trying_ to be a smartass, but she still is. She is going to make him say it.

“Yeah, but that one is ugly. This is my way of swearing fealty.” He smirks, elbows her a little. “I know Clarke got down on one knee and bowed for you and everything, but this will have to do.”

“I got on my knees for her, too,” Lexa defends herself, lamely.

He sighs mockingly. “All this time I was holding out my support of the coalition, turns out you only care about hers.”

“No, no,” she says quickly, pulling her hand back. She looks at him with wide, panicked eyes. They’re bare for once, no war paint or makeup, just two green eyes. “This is better. I like it. It looks nice on you.”

He offers her a smile, and she accepts it, returning the favor. The uneasy feeling of giving away too much, revealing too much of himself creeps up and almost makes him regret not getting something more ironic, like ‘ _I didn’t chose the Kru life, the Kru life chose me_ ’. Things wouldn’t be so exposed and open and vulnerable. She could crush him right now. She doesn’t, says, “Osgeda. I never did not mean it, Bellamy.”

He touches the top of her hand, for a second, then echoes her, “Osgeda.”

.

He doesn’t get drunk a lot. He doesn’t really have the luxury since he has to keep all of his people in check, running the guard, setting an example. Still, his sister marrying a grounder in the morning feels like a special occasion.

Today isn’t his day anyway. He picked a fight with some leftover Azgedian trash for insulting Lexa and almost got into an actual fistfight with Octavia. She doesn’t like him right now.

“Why did you verbally assault a man this morning?” Lexa finds him on a log next to the campfire. He’s sitting by his lonesome, Raven sat by him for a few minutes but gave up after ten minutes. Even Clarke tried, but she was whisked away by a medical emergency before he had the time to do something stupid, like confess things he shouldn’t.

“His face was annoying me,” he spits, taking another gulp of his drink, staring straight into the fire. His cheeks feel warm, but his gut feels hotter. Hot with anger.

“Clarke told me he called me a coward.” He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t deny or confirm. Lexa huffs, grabs the drink from him and practically shoves Titus away when he tries to proof-drink it first. She gulps down the remainder of it, shaking her head. It’s _stronger_ than anything she’s had before, her eyes are burning with tears.

Venomously, she notifies him, voice reminding him why people fear her, “Trying to win a fight from an extremely skilled Azgedian warrior who is twice the size of you is not heroic. It is foolish!”

He doesn’t care who the person is, or how big they are—talk shit, get hit. Ask Murphy.

“Whatever, Commander,” he snaps, bitter and mockingly. “We are all aware of your almighty warrior qualities. We get it, you could kill me in a fight.”

“Were you trying to defend my honor?” He’s quiet, picks up a small thick branch, idly throwing it into the fire. Lower, more persistent, and a little lighter than usual, she adds, “I do not need you to defend my honor, Bellamy Blake. I am certainly capable of doing that myself.”

“I know,” he barks back, attracting the gazes of a few curious people. So he lowers his voice, still tripping over the words because his tongue feels funny. “I know. But you shouldn’t have to.”

“You did it because you care,” she states, and it’s not a question. She’s smiling goofily and her eyes are a little glazy, punches him in the shoulder pretty hard. “Ai hod you in seintaim, Bell-a-my.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he declares, but she’s already resting her head on his shoulder so a lot of the heat is lost in context.

The next day Raven tells him he downed about half of Monty’s moonshine stock with Lexa, offered to braid Monty’s hair, prepositioned every blonde in his close proximity including ‘bald Clarke’ (Titus), kept singing ‘ _ai hod yu in_ ’ to Lexa and at one point was only wearing his boxers and one shoe.

“You said something about how you were going to prove you were braver by jumping into the pond that almost killed Octavia when we first got here and were gonna ‘ _slay the demons_ ’.” She claps him on the back sympathetically. “Luckily, I was sober enough to remind you that was a three day walk from here. 

He catches Lexa’s eye during the wedding that morning and both of them go red at the same time, not daring to look at the other one for the rest of the ceremony. They ignore each other for three days and everything goes back to normal after that. As far as normal is normal with them.

.

It starts with Bellamy breaking his wrist during his guard duty. He has a night shift even though he stayed up the night before to argue with Lexa about which Harry Potter House they belonged in (he found the second book a few months ago and managed to save most of it) so he can’t see straight and in the process trips over a pretty big “How on earth did you miss that?!” rock. Clarke fusses over him for an entire night and makes him wear a brace for way longer than necessary.

Lexa is next, decides to get punched in the face by one of her Nightbloods so hard, her iris ruptures. There’s blood in her actual eyeball, her vision blurry for days. Her aim is off target for _weeks_. She was that desperate to upstage him. Clarke stays with her the first night, tending to her eye and making sure it gets the proper rest.

Then, Bellamy gets food poisoning, Lexa burns the side of her thigh, Bellamy sprains his ankle. Lexa shows signs of a fever, Bellamy contracts food poisoning, _again_. Clarke doesn’t actually catch it until Lexa comes in with a papercut. A damn papercut. Commander Lexa, asking for help, for a papercut. Yeah.

“You two are trying to out hurt each other?”

“It is a pride thing,” Lexa fills in when Bellamy is just staring at Clarke.

“Are you insane?” Clarke is actually very upset. They can tell because her nostrils are flared, her fists are balled and there’s an angry flush creeping up her collarbone. He knew she was going to call them out soon enough. “You guys are willing to give me an heart attack, or worse, prepared to lose actual limbs, over a, _a pride thing_?”

“Yes,” Lexa answers honestly, while Bellamy sighs a ‘no’. They share a look. They both know it’s not an actual pride thing, more a jealousy thing, but for both of their sake’s they’ll pretend it is.

“You can both go float yourselves.” Clarke scoffs loudly, glaring deeply at the both of them before she stalks out of the Medbay and leaves them to themselves.

“I guess this means I am the winner.”

Lexa is pretty smooth, showers Clarke with flowers, gets down on her knee again, apologizes. Bellamy just waits until she cools off enough to offer her a drink. He’s not very good at the whole feelings thing with Clarke without ending up crying.

Anyway, they’re all friends. No hard feelings. Besides Clarke sending them to Nyko whenever they come in, after that, but it’s a minor consequence considering he’s no longer actively trying to get hurt.

(Although three months later he does go in, in the middle of the night, having cut his hand on a knife. It was really stupid, anyway. He was tired and mistook Miller for an intruder and they ended up on the floor, brawling like idiots. He tried to bandage it himself, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. He knew Clarke had the night shift, and he didn’t want to bother her, but bleeding to death seemed like a bleak alternative.

She doesn’t complain or mentions anything, nor does she offer to get Nyko, so he figures it’s relatively fine for him to be here. She cleans the cut for him in silence, beside telling him he’s a stupid dick for attacking Miller in a groggy ‘I just woke up’ voice that really just does it for him on multiple levels.

They’re in the middle of ten minute period of applying pressure to his wound, when he finally breaks the slightly awkward silence.

“It wasn’t really a pride thing. It was more of a fighting for your affection kind of thing,” he admits, lame and stupid. He can’t look away from her while he says it, because he might not be able to look at her again if he does. She looks up from his hand, teeth gritted together, bottom lip poking out a little. “That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“How come, princess?” He raises his eyebrows, because he feels like he wants to hear this. But her face softens, and her brow furrows together, almost like she’s pleading.

“You already _have_ my affection.” She hesitates, although Clarke never _really_ hesitates, before leaning up and kissing his cheek, close to the corner of his lips. She smiles at him, shy, even though she’s the one who just laid one on him.

He blinks at her, and he doesn’t really know what to say, or doesn’t know how to say it without screwing it up. So he doesn’t say anything, brushes aside a piece of her blonde hair with his good hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. She takes his hand, grins, and squeezes it. It isn’t much, but it feels a lot like a promise.

He doesn’t tell Lexa about it. She can keep thinking she’s won, he’ll give that to her.)

.

It’s been three years since he settled into Polis. A lot has changed. A lot hasn’t.

Although there was a period of peace, Ousjekon Kru decided they didn’t agree with Lexa’s policy on the strangers arriving in ships from the West. Lexa wanted to give them a chance, wanted to let them live amongst them. They didn’t speak their language or Skaikru’s, but languages can be taught. Their ambassador Britney (again, he wasn’t really listening) didn’t seem to agree. She wanted to treat them like enemies from the get-go, eradicate them before they would have to start another war.

Lexa finds out soon enough that they’re going to try and rebel, try and murder her, because she wasn’t stupid. She had multiple spies situated in ever clan. Yeah, she did that. Just because there hadn’t been a battle in a while, didn’t mean she just all of a sudden use her warrior ways.

Lexa’s all like, “We’re not here to take any prisoners. We’re here to arrest the Heda kom Ousjekon Kru for her threats against my life. I am the Commander of the thirteen clans, no one will defy my orders.” and it works, for a little while. Until the entire clan starts trying to fuck shit up, and he gets stabbed.

“I want them all dead,” Lexa commands, war paint faded by sweat but will fierce as ever. Octavia is kneeled down next to him, she’d been leading the scouting party until she heard her brother was stabbed, sending their commander an unimpressed look. They’re in some weird dungeon, with a few pieces of furniture and creepily dimmed lights.

“They know you’re coming, we weren’t prepared for this much force.” He winces as Octavia checks out his injury. He’s feeling slightly lightheaded, but he isn’t going to act like a fool “We made a mistake thinking her kru was going to side with us. We’re outnumbered.”

“Ai nou fir raun. Ai don kom au gon dison.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he breathes, sweat dripping down the side of his face. He’s trying really hard to focus and keep his eyes open. “Heda isn’t afraid of anything and Heda was born for this, but Heda also can’t take on six-hundred pissed off Ousjekon Kru members by herself and three other people.”

She huffs, indignant. “Heda can do whatever she pleases.”

“I do not think you are supposed to—” Octavia pulls out the knife, immediately applying pressure to the wound. “Remove it,” Lexa finishes, rubbing her temples in aggravation. He guesses he did embed the whole ‘ _doing whatever the hell I want_ ’ thing into her system.

Clarke rushes in—she’d stayed behind at the makeshift camp in case they needed her to heal anyone, which is usually just symbolic on missions like these until he like, got stabbed—but she stuffed most of her stuff into a bag and came over here when she one of the scouts informed her Bellamy was hurt.

“What the hell happened?” She sinks down next to him, examines the wound carefully as much as she can without asking Octavia to remove her hands, before putting her hands on top of his sister’s. “I thought this was just a one-person arrest.”

They both ignore her, Bellamy continuing his earlier plea. “Lexa, you can’t go out there. We’ll come back, declare war, anything.”

“There will be another commander,” she barks, finding her sword even though it’s still in it’s holster, her grip tightening until there’s blood dripping down her fingers. “There will never be another you.”

Clarke looks like she’s about to cry, hair falling into her eyes, blood staining her pale skin. He shares a look with Clarke, and he can tell just how she feels by her eyes, knows just what she would say if she could right now. _She doesn’t want him to die, she loves him, she doesn’t want to live without him_. They both know this, she knows he feels the same. Lexa, however. She needs verbal confirmation, or she is going to do something that’ll get her killed.

She lowers her gaze, determination set on her face. She’s so fucking stubborn, he’s going to kick her ass once he recovers. “My spirit will choose wisely.”

He’s starting to see blurry, but he feels like this is important enough not to die for another second. “ _Oso kik thru ogeda_ . We don’t just fight together, Lexa. We _survive_ together.”

Lexa stares at him, doubt all over her expression, until she nods. Then nods again. “You are right. We can come back for her later. When we are prepared.”

“And if this entire thing ain’t damn cute,” Octavia comments, dry and mockingly, maybe even slightly annoyed. “We need to get on the move, if we don’t want to end up with out asses being captured.”

“He can’t walk, not like this,” Clarke says, quietly, the first thing she’s said in a while, takes one hand of his abdomen to feel his temperature. She brushes away a curl that’s sticking to his skin, looking conflicted.

“I can walk,” he tries to get out, but it sounds more like a cat being strangled than anything else, which kind of diffuses his entire ‘tough guy’ act. Most of the other warriors are still in battle, there’s now way they can alarm them from their position in the creepy dungeon.

“I’m not going anywhere without my brother. I don’t care if I have to carry him myself.” Nobody is doubting her either.

Stiffly, Lexa adds, “In the words of the great ancient musical hero Rick kom Astley, I am never going to run around and desert you.”

Bellamy groans loudly and it makes Lexa laugh, watery. “I forgot I am not supposed to mention him ever again. _Bosh moba_.”

He knows it’s harder for Octavia and Clarke to find the situation humorous, but with Lexa he never has to try that hard.

Determination settles in on Clarke’s face, “Lexa come here.” When Lexa doesn’t respond fast enough, she repeats herself, clear and very loud. Clarke hasn’t been in the field since Mount Weather, has taken a lot of interest in healing, but she’s still a leader.

“Put your hands on top of Octavia’s. Do not let go.” Lexa does as she says and Clarke gets up. She breaks a small table over her knee, kicks against a small bench until it gives way. She rips of a piece of a blanket that was lying on top of it before, with her bare hands, using the materials to make-shift a stretcher.

She then rips off a larger piece of blanket, starts maneuvering her way around the hands before telling them to let go so she can bandage him. She wipes some of her hair from her face, staining her cheek with his blood. “This won’t fix him, but it’ll hold until we reach Polis.”

They help her carry him on top of it, and she takes a deep breath, checking to see if there’s anything else she can do. “Me and Octavia will start carrying him outside enemy territory so you can sound the horn signaling retreat and join us with the other warriors.”

It’s a solid enough plan, and neither one of the two able to speak really has anything to note.

“You’re hot and smart, how is that fair?” Octavia seems slightly in awe as she kneels down to grab a hold of the stretcher. “If I wasn’t already, and my brother wasn’t planning on marrying you—I’d make you my wife any damn day.”

Clarke smiles, despite herself, before directing her gaze back onto Lexa. “Be careful.”

Lexa takes out her sword, sends her a meaningful look. “Hodnes teik ething daun.”

Clarke nods, pressing her lips together, thankful. _Love conquers all_ is a long way from love is weakness, and frankly, she needed the reminder.

He wakes three days later, with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He figures it’s a long way back to recovery, but at least he’s alive. He thinks. One thing he knows for sure is that he isn’t in that damn City of Light that Lexa keeps preaching because _everything_ hurts.

“I hate you,” is the first thing Clarke tells him when he’s conscious enough to understand it, pressing her mouth against his. It feels strange, mostly because his lips still feel numb, but also because she’s crying and she doesn’t usually cry when they kiss.

“Please stop, you’re suffocating me. I thought we both agreed we’d be casual,” he teases her and she shakes her head at him, fingers digging into his arm. “Glad to see your feeling better.” Then, for good measure and just because she can’t help it, she kisses him again.

It’s a blur of people and faces after that, visiting him, telling him they’re glad he’s alive, praising him for his bravery. It takes everything in him to not be scoffing the entire time.

Lexa is so busy with re-negotiations and trying to save the coalition, he doesn’t see her for two weeks.

“Well, well. I’m thrilled you could finally fit me into your busy schedule.” Clarke has him on full bedrest. He tried getting a glass of water and she threatened to _re-stab_ him if he tried again. The boredom is making him a smartass. Well, it’s part of the problem, anyway. Spot only wants to play with a bedridden person for so long.

“I thought you would like an update,” she announces, pulling out a piece of paper with drawings on it. _Of course_ Lexa came with a purpose and an entire list of things to talk about, she couldn’t _just_ come see how he was doing.

They talk business until Clarke comes home from her shift, tired, her hair a mess. She sighs at the sight of Lexa. “I’d very much like for you to end this entire thing, and fast. I can’t keep fixing our people with so little to work with.”

Lexa nods, checks Titus expression. She has this system of Flamekeeper Facial Expressions that tell her how much time she has left. She turns back to Clarke, admires her in a different way than before, but still just as adored by her as ever. She just finished a double shift, operating on Indra and Botan with nothing more than a rusty scalpel and a needle and threat, and she’s _still_ giving her orders. “You do not deserve her, Bellamy.”

“Nah, I deserve better,” Bellamy smirks, eyes shining boyishly for the first time in a while, and Clarke grip on his hand tightens so bad, Lexa can practically feel the bones shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Finalizing their visit, Lexa smiles politely, a little uncomfortable. “My people do not think death is the end. I do not either, but I know that I would have found it very difficult to wait until my next life to meet you again.”

It’s… weirdly touching. And poetic? Bellamy feels a sudden urge to burst into laughter, but doesn’t. He knows how hard it is for Lexa to open up. Not as hard as it is for him, but that kind of makes their dysfunctional friendship great. They’re both so emotionally constipated, it practically cancels each other out.

Lexa’s expression is doubtful, standing awkwardly by his side, but then she gets this focused look on his face and he knows she’s going to hug him, come hell or high water. So he lets her.

It’s their second hug in all of three years, but it’s an improvement on the first.

“Ste yuj, strikon,” she smirks when she pulls back and he narrows his eyes at her. She just called him _little one_ , like he’s weak and he doesn’t have a few years on her. And okay, she could kick his ass in five seconds but, that’s not the point. He’s about to shove her away from his bed and risk being stabbed again, this time by Titus, when she adds, more seriously, eyes soft, “Yu na gon figa. Yu gonplei don jos stot au.” 

_You will heal. Your fight has just begun._

He smirks, turns it softer, into a grin, resists making a dumb comment to hide his incapability to deal with intimacy. He knows for her it’s Trigedasleng, like for him it’s inappropriate jokes. It’s been three years, and not much has changed, but one very important thing has. “I love you, too, Lexa.”

 .

  **Fin.**

 .

  _when i’m with you_

_i'm standing with an army_

_they don't have a chance because_

_when i’m with you_

_i’m standing with an army_

/.|.\

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment and tell me about what you think, or your day, your most screwed up memory, or your favorite kind of cheese. anything. really. or i will have nothing to rave about in my diary today.
> 
>  
> 
> god, i should find some friends.


End file.
